writer

A Short Story

I originally title this piece, “The Suit” but some readers were rather distracted by that title.

The first thing that I noticed about the boy – he couldn’t be more than twelve or so – was how poorly the dark blue suit fitted him. It was too wide in the shoulders, and the sleeves were too long. They reached to his thumbs. His hands were almost covered by the fabric. He had tousled blonde hair and bright grey eyes that had a sort of glow. There was a light there that spoke of hope and promise.

“Excuse me, young man, may I help you?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah – I mean yes, I am looking for someone.”

I opened my register as he spoke. “Okay, how about giving me a name.”

I was about to turn to the first page, when he said, “I – I don’t know for sure, maybe George Adamson, or Gordon, it might be Gordon.”

I sat back in the chair.

“Look, son, I need a lot more information, and accurate information at that. Can you tell me when this George or Gordon Adamson arrived?”

“Well, not really.” The boy hung his head. “I just know it was in the last couple of years, but I don’t know when.”

I sighed and looked at the boy, not angry at the interruption of my work, but rather sorrowful for this young man who seemed, now, a bit lost.

I ran fingers through my brown curls as I thought for a minute.

“Look, I’ll search for you, but it’s going to take some time. First, give me your name and birth date and then you can go sit over there in the waiting room. I’ll call you if I find anything.” I gestured to the empty seats that lined two sides of the room. The chairs were elm wood, with purple and blue cushions.

“Okay, I’m Jordan Adamson. I was born on March 27, 2003.

I jotted down the information in my register.

“Now go have a seat.”

“Thanks, um – I don’t know your name, I’m sorry.”

“It’s Dariah,” I said.

“Dariah, okay, thanks.”

The boy walked to the nearest chair and sat down. He swung his feet back and forth and and he tapped the chair arms with his fingers.

I began to look down the list of names. To go back two years was asking a lot of me, and I wondered what little magic the child had worked to make me wish to help him.

I took a sip of my bottled water. I scanned the list, and then I found Gordon Adamson at last. It showed that he had died on September 12, two years before.

“Hi there, young man. I’ve found him, I believe.”

The boy got up and walked over to my desk.

I read the details out to him as he nodded.

“Yes, that sounds like my Dad alright.”

“Then I will call him now to come and escort you the rest of the way.”

The boy rocked back and forth on his heels and toes. He smiled a wide smile now.

“Thanks so much, ma’am. I really wanna meet my Dad.” He hung his head a moment and then said, “I never got to meet him when I was on earth. He left my Mom when I was little. But now I have a chance to know him, right?”

The door opened, and in strode a tall man, dressed in a white suit. His hair was blonde like the boy’s and he had the same grey eyes.

“Hello there, I’m Jordan,” said the boy.

The man took a step back.

“Jordan? My son Jordan?”

“Yes, Dad, it’s me.”

“Well, my lad, we have much to talk about then. Will you come with me?” Mr. Adamson held out one hand.

The boy grasped it. The man led him to the door, and pushed it open. They left the room.

I turned back to my desk, took another sip of bottled water, and flipped the register to the last page. I wondered who would enter the room next. Curious, I took the small blue earpiece from where it rested on its side and listened for a minute. I nodded, then replaced the device.
I glanced at the huge clock on the wall across from my desk. It was nearly time for a group of people to arrive. They had been in a bus rollover. I was going to be busy for quite some time.